By Jesse Marx
By Chris Parker
By Jake Rossen
By Jesse Marx
By Michelle LeBow
By Alleen Brown
By Maggie LaMaack
By CP Staff
Minneapolis Police Chief Robert Olson's contract runs out on January 2, 2004. I'm guessing that Mayor R.T. Rybak has a calendar squirreled away someplace with that date circled in red and accented with a choice expletive or two--especially given the mayor's most recent public relations debacle, which began with Olson leaking a Rybak memo concerning plans to streamline communications between the media and the police department. All this came to a head of sorts last Friday, when a grieving father accused the mayor of letting insider politics get in the way of a homicide investigation.
"The chief keeps playing the mayor for a fool," a city hall insider told me Friday night, as the two of us watched the story unfold on the 6 o'clock news. "And you just know R.T. wishes he had never tried to take the guy on in the first place."
It was less than a year ago that Rybak tried and failed to convince the city council to buy out Olson's $116,000 a year contract. It was a public relations nightmare for the newly elected mayor. The community rallied around the chief, who has shrewdly chosen not to comment publicly on the flap; editorial writers questioned Rybak's sincerity; and, in the end, even the mayor's staunchest supporters believed their man had made a rookie mistake. ("Rybak should have known better," former police chief Tony Bouza told the Star Tribune.) Since then, Olson has not only demonstrated resiliency; he has proven himself one of the city's most masterful politicians.
When racially charged violence erupted in the Jordan Neighborhood last summer, for instance, protesters gathered in front of city hall and angrily demanded something be done about police brutality, especially in communities of color. Across town, Olson ingratiated himself to black activists by more or less deputizing the City Inc.'s Spike Moss, who patrolled north Minneapolis live at 6 and 10. Just recently, as the chief was finally starting to take some heat for refusing to participate in federal mediation to improve relations between police and the community, he received the FBI Director's Leadership Award for, yes, "crime prevention initiatives and relations with community." It's possible this little bit of symbiotic timing was just dumb luck, of course. But it sure was nice to have Deborah Pierce, special agent in charge of the Minneapolis FBI office, tell reporters that "Nationally, [Olson] is highly respected in law enforcement." When Rybak was forced to publicly congratulate the chief for all his good work, it no doubt made the chief's day.
The latest set-to between Olson and the differently abled mayor began two weeks ago, when word got out about a memo Rybak had sent to Olson, explaining that he was "centralizing all strategic decisions about how--and when--the Police Department communicates with the public via the media." In practice, that means cops and their commanders must notify Gail Plewacki, communications director for Minneapolis, in situations where there is a question about city or MPD policy, when there is an allegation involving officer misconduct (on- or off-duty), and when an officer is involved in a shooting. Police spokeswoman Cyndi Barrington was also moved into Plewacki's department, which led her to resign and complain publicly that the mayor and the communications director were concerned that she didn't provide reporters with enough "positive stories."
Beat reporters were outraged, First Amendment attorneys bristled, and the requisite editorials and letters to the editor followed, rightly criticizing Rybak for trying to package public policy inside a media matrix more suitable to a corporation. (It didn't help that Rybak uses phrases like "framing the message," that Plewacki talks about coordinating the "dissemination of information," or that the policy, as currently written, is maddeningly vague.) That said, it's worth noting that the way the story played had as much to do with how it broke as any tangible policy changes. (In the end, veteran reporters at the Strib guess the policy might actually cause more disgruntled cops to leak stories.)
When I quizzed Rybak about the controversy last Thursday, he says that he believes the situation was initially "blown out of proportion" because the memo he sent was cast in broad strokes and intended for Olson's eyes only. "This is not an idea that sprung up in my head on a sunny Sunday afternoon. This was informed by what citizens have told me and what police have told me one-on-one," Rybak explained. "I know this is being played as me being Mr. Happy Talk Spinmeister, but it's not about that."
Asked if making the memo public was yet another example of the chief's efforts to punish him for past sins, Rybak would say only that the question was "very perceptive." "Look, I think it's clear that I tried to change the chief," Rybak said later in the interview. "And there's no sugarcoating the fact that for the next year this will continue to be an awkward situation. This is not a situation I chose, but a situation I'm working with, and I'll try to do my best."
The next morning, Mark Pearson held an impromptu press conference outside of the Stop 'N Go on the 1800 block of Johnson Street NE, where less than 48 hours earlier, his son Eric had been murdered. Pearson blamed the mayor's office for what he believed to be a lack of response from homicide investigators, who had yet to make a surveillance video available to the public. "It starts with the mayor's office," he said, in reference to the seeming communication snafu. "That where it starts. Because, you know, he's got some bad things going on and he don't want no bad publicity. Everyone knows that, right?"